


Regret

by muirgen_lys



Series: Anchors [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muirgen_lys/pseuds/muirgen_lys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris talks Anders down from a panic attack/anxiety spiral. Set during/after <i>Dissent</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Implied to be a sequel to _Horror_ but may be read separately. Second fill for the same kmeme prompt.   
>  http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=49061237#t49061237

There are dead Templars everywhere. Again. They burn into his eyes, dark blood on white armour, faces pale and livid. Justice's fury is still roiling in his mind, clawing at the surface of his thoughts. 

He never used to get this angry, before. 

He barely looks up in time to see the girl escape. He's still fighting for control of his hands, curled in around himself...for all the good it'll do him. Shrinking away is scarce protection against someone who lives inside your skin.

“Maker, no...I almost...” 

He can't bring himself to say it. He doesn't want to think it. But it's there anyway, the scene playing itself out before his eyes, over and over. How many mages has he seen die like that? On their knees, pleading for their lives...

“If you hadn't...”

He was supposed to _stop_ that kind of murder. How has he turned into its instrument instead?

He hauls himself to his feet, and mutters some excuse before fleeing the area. He needs to be alone. He can't...he's too dangerous to be around people right now.

He stumbles to a halt once he figures he's got enough distance, and presses himself against a wall. He's...not crying, exactly, there are no tears, but hyperventilating badly. His mind is running in circles. If Justice had been faster, if Hawke had been slower, if there had been more Templars, or fewer Templars, if he'd been alone...

And it would be his fault. His fault, his fault...he's turning into a monster and he can't _stop_ it, he can't fix it, he doesn't know what to do...

Dimly, he's aware that this isn't helping, that feeding his spiraling anxiety is only going to make things worse. But it's been a long time since he's had to drag himself out of one of these, and he doesn't have the willpower right now to make himself stop.

They nearly killed that girl. Justice must be going mad....and he can't...there's nothing he can do. He was completely helpless in there. A passenger in his own body. What if...Maker what if Justice kept doing that? What if next time there was no one to stop him? What if...

The thought settles like a rock in his stomach, and he wraps his arms uselessly around himself. His mind seems to white-out, a buzz of all-encompassing wrongness, and he tells himself he just needs to keep breathing, he _knows_ that, but he's not sure where the controls are to make it happen. His body isn't listening to him...

_Please, Maker, Andraste, **somebody**...I need help. I need...Fuck, I don't know, please..._

“Mage? Are you well?”

The words take a few seconds to penetrate, and when they do, he doesn't know how to answer them. He shakes his head, still searching for words, and Fenris steps closer, abortively reaching a hand out to him before letting it drop back.

“Do you need me to fetch Hawke?” 

Another, more vehement headshake. “No,” he manages a second later. He's cold. _Blight_ when did he get so cold? “I can't-- I don't--” 

*

Fenris isn't convinced he's the best person to handle this, but he sees no other choice. He knows terror when he sees it, and if he finds nothing frightening about Hawke, that hardly matters when the refusal is spoken in such a desperate tone.

“Very well,” he says. “But neither am I leaving,” he adds, anticipating the next demand. The mage is pale, strands of hair sticking to the sides of his face, his breath coming in strained gasps. The terror rolling off him is palpable. Fenris' personal feelings towards him aside, the man is in no state to be alone.

Anders shakes his head, and tries to speak again, but no words come out.

“Breathe, mage,” he says. The healer's gasping is starting to make _him_ feel lightheaded. Anders glares at him, and he arches an eyebrow in an expression of calculated indifference. He was a tool of intimidation for years enough to know all its tricks, and the mage's glare slides off him like water. “Breathe,” he repeats, more gently. “You can do it. Follow me.” He demonstrates, pursing his lips so the mage can hear the flow of air, and is a little surprised when the mage matches him, shakily at first, but steadying over time. 

“Good,” he says. “Again.”

It takes a few minutes for the mage's breathing to even out and the desperation in his eyes to fade, but eventually he steps back, half-turning away from Fenris.

“Thank you,” he says hollowly. “You didn't have to.”

“I'm aware,” Fenris replies, though the truth is he's not sure he could have left. More quietly he says, “You did as much for me.” 

The mage shrugs one shoulder, a small, exhausted gesture. “It's different. It's my job.”

“Even so,” he says. Then, hesitantly, he adds “Do you want to talk about it?”

Another shrug. “What's there to say?” the mage asks. “Justice is...something's changed. He's not what I thought. What happened in there...” He turns back, more troubled than Fenris has ever seen him. The doubt and fear on his face are heartbreaking, and for a few seconds Fenris wonders if the mage is ever as certain as he appears to be. “I never imagined him taking over like that,” he says. “I wouldn't have thought him capable of it, not a living person. It was...awful. I couldn't move, or look away...I could see it all happening, but I couldn't stop.”

“He is a demon,” Fenris says. “Perhaps you should not be so surprised.”

In an instant, the mage's face goes blank. “He's not a demon.”

Fenris doesn't know how the healer can still say that, but he holds his tongue rather than saying so. Instead, after some consideration, he says, “I have had my will taken from me, by blood magic.” Only a few times, and only in the beginning - he had been careful not to make it necessary thereafter - but he remembers the sensation with chilling clarity. “It is much like what you describe.” He swallows, looking away. This is more honesty than he usually offers people, especially people he mistrusts as much as he does the mage, but if saying it will make Anders realise the danger he poses, the danger he is _in_ , then perhaps it is worth it.

Besides...when he endured that particular violation...he might have wished to have someone there who understood.

He looks back at Anders and hopes that some of his sincerity shows, even if he doesn't know how to say it. “I call him a demon because it is what he is, mage. You insist he is your friend, but...I know what that is like. A friend would not do it to you.”

The mage meets his eyes, and for an instant, there is understanding between them. Then Anders looks away, breaking the connection. “Maybe not,” he says. “He wasn't a demon when I met him, but...he was never meant to stay outside the Fade like this. It seems a lot of things about him have changed.” He shakes himself, and pushes away from the wall with more force than necessary. “You should go back to Hawke,” he says. “Tell him...tell him I'll be in the clinic, if he wants to talk. And that I'll understand if he doesn't.”

He walks away down the passage. Fenris watches until he's out of sight before turning to go find the others.


End file.
